Part 55 (1/2)
”So that's her game, eh? I suppose she thinks she'll breed her way into the family. Well, she won't. It won't work. I was willing to compromise before--so long as there was no tangible bond between that family and mine--but they've got their blood mixed with mine; they've got a finger-hold in spite of h.e.l.l, and I suppose they'll hold on. But I won't acknowledge a grandchild with sc.u.m like that in its veins. Good G.o.d! Now listen--you.” Wharton's jaw was outthrust, his gaze hard and unwavering. ”No child tainted with that blood will share in one penny of my money, now or at any other time. Understand?”
”Perfectly.” Bob's color had receded, but in no other way did he show his struggle for self-mastery. ”My wife isn't having a baby to spite you, and if it ever needs a grandfather we'll adopt one.”
”They've pulled you down into the mud; now they've tied you there.
Heredity's stronger than you or I; watch your child grow up, and watch its mother's blood tell. Then remember that I tried to free you before it was too late. Well, I'm through. This settles me.
Good-by, and G.o.d help you with that rotten gang.” Hannibal Wharton turned and strode out of the room shaking his head and mumbling.
Jimmy Knight had fallen upon evil times. A combination of circ.u.mstances had seriously affected his mode of making a living, and that of his friends. To outward appearances the frequenters of Tony the Barber's place were as thrifty as usual, but in the pinochle-room at the rear there was gloom. Reason for these hard times lay in an upheaval of public sentiment that had galvanized the Police Department into one of its periodic spasms of activity, and the cause ran back to a sordid quarrel between two factions of the Tenderloin. At about the time when Jimmy came to New York the contention had become too bitter for the underworld to hold, and echoes of it had begun to leak out; later it culminated in the murder of the leader of one clique. Murders, it is true, are not uncommon in New York, but this one was staged in the glare of Broadway, and with a bold defiance of the law that aroused popular indignation. There followed a chain of fortuitous happenings that issued in the capture of the murderers, in a wide-spread exposure of social conditions, and in a great outburst of public indignation against a police system that allowed such abuses to exist.
Of course there came a loud protest from the guardians of the law, a frantic waving of spotless banners, and a prating of virtue; but the popular will has a way of obtaining its desires regardless of red tape, trickery, or politics, and in this case it demanded a reorganization of the department and got it.
Discipline suddenly strengthened, and as a result gambling almost ceased, wire-tapping languished, organized blackmail was conducted under cover: only crime in its crudest forms continued as usual; and it followed therefore that Jimmy Knight was not prosperous.
Had it not been for his share in Bob's generosity he would have been forced to the distressing necessity of asking for employment --a thing to curdle his blood! It was characteristic of young Knight that he did not scruple to accept charity from the man he hated, although he cherished the memory of that public beating at Bob's hands and the humiliation of it gnawed him like a cancer.
More than once lately Jim had been tempted to turn his knowledge of the Hammon ”suicide” into cash, but he could think of no safe and certain means of doing so until one day Max Melcher dropped a bit of intelligence that promised to open a way.
”Who do you suppose I just heard from?” Max inquired, one raw afternoon in March, when he had found Jim in their usual haunt.
”Lilas Lynn.”
Jim made no attempt to conceal his surprise and interest. ”Where is she?”
”She wrote from Liverpool, asking for money. Can you beat that?”
”Money? Why, she had a satchel full. What's become of it?”
Melcher shrugged. ”She's taken the jumps--English Derby, Paris race-meet, Monte Carlo--”
”Huh! She fished all the sucker-holes along the route, eh? Of course you cabled her a few C's?” Jim snickered.
”Do I look as if I had? She's sick, got a cough, and says it's the 'con.' She wants to come home.”
Jim started. ”Say, that's no hospital bark of hers; it's nothing but the c.o.ke.” After a moment he asked casually, ”Where's she stopping?”
”Liverpool.”
”What's her address? I'll drop her a line to cheer her up.” ”She wrote from the Hotel--” Melcher checked himself and shot a questioning look at his friend. ”Why this sudden charity?”
Jim's gaze was bland, his tone one of wounded innocence. ”Can't a guy offer to cheer--”
”You're not in the business of cheering sick dames,” Melcher said, sharply. Then, after a pause, ”You never came through with me, Jim. There was something phony about Lilas's get-away. She left too suddenly after the Hammon suicide, and she's been under cover now for eight months. I never got it quite right. What're you holding out?”
Jim sparred adroitly, but without effect.
”Oh! You've got an ace buried somewhere,” Melcher said. ”You're a s.h.i.+fty guy. Of course this is a friendly game we're playing, but, just the same, I never bettered a poker hand by leaving the room.
I don't even turn my head to spit when I'm sitting in with a fellow like you. Lilas has got something on her mind, and I believe I'll cable her the price of a ticket.”
That was enough for Jim. He began to weaken, and at last made a clean breast of all the circ.u.mstances surrounding Jarvis Hammon's death rather than risk the result of a meeting between Max and Lilas. When he had finished his story Melcher was leaning forward, his pink, smooth-shaven, agreeable face gravely intent.
”So that was the way of it. Wharton and Merkle--and a four- wheeler! By G.o.d! That was nervy--on Merkle's part, especially. He took a chance. And Lilas shot the old man, eh?”
”n.o.body saw her do it,” Jim explained. ”Lorelei was in the dining- room at the time it happened, and Hammon swore he did it himself.